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Her protector was gone. In his place stood the Green Beret—the steely-eyed soldier with a mission of revenge—and she was a means to an end.
A casualty of his personal war.
Numbness crept in. She welcomed it. “You don’t know what you’re asking of me.” Her flat tone matched her insides.
If Vincente found out she’d told anyone what she’d witnessed—what he’d done—she wouldn’t survive. And neither would they. She refused to be responsible for another death.
He dragged his fingers through his hair, a plea in his eyes. “Then tell me.”
“I’m sorry about your mother.” Sadness, the weight of it rife with a thousand regrets, crushed her chest.
Maybe she couldn’t stay after all. Not even to fulfill her contract. Her work on the reservation was the first time she’d put the welfare ofothers ahead of herself, and she liked the feeling. It was as if she’d been breathing pollution her entire life and the clean, desert air stripped away layers of the persona she’d created in Abigail Winters so her true identity could emerge from hiding.
Caleb exhaled a rough breath. He paced the room, then stopped in front of her. “I’ll set you up somewhere safe until Lopez is no longer a threat.”
Confusion furrowed her brows as she looked up. “Even if I can’t help you?”
His gaze turned unreadable. “I won’t hold your safety over your head to get you to cooperate.”
Don’t crywas all she could think, even as her vision blurred.
“Thank you.” She reached out, her palm flat on his chest, feeling his heartbeat—strong and steady. His warmth seeped into her chilled skin. “You’re a good man, Caleb Varella.”
His expression shuttered. “Am I?”
He stepped back, and the air between them turned cold. “You work tomorrow?”
She gave a mute nod.
“I’ll pick you up in the morning.”
The door closed behind him, the silence left behind pressing against Gia’s ribs like a phantom hand, squeezing the breath from her lungs.
The next morning, dawn spilled across the hills to the east, chasing away the darkness and setting the rocks ablaze in a fiery orange glow that contrasted with the icy wind in the air. Caleb checked his GPS,then turned off the main road north of Fort Defiance onto a narrow dirt track that led to his cousin’s home.
A hogan came into view, Zach’s police cruiser and a sleek black Dodge Charger with red rims and red upholstery parked beside it. Caleb got out of the Jeep, surveying the octagonal structure—stained log siding, asphalt shingles, a stovepipe curling smoke into the frigid air from the center of the conical roof. The hogan’s door faced east to welcome the day. The traditional way.
He snapped a photo of the Charger and sent it to his colleague, Danny Mayhew. Danny had been a Navy SEAL—DEVGRU—under Nathan Long. Nicknamed Chaos for his role as the team breacher. Caleb had known his background when Danny hired onto Dìleas. The nickname he’d learned over beers one night.
Danny was also a motor head. He babied his blue Ford Mustang GT when he wasn’t breaking the speed limit on the DC Beltway. He’d even given the damn car a name, after some woman he once met in a San Diego bar who, in Danny’s words, was “built like a high-performance machine.”
Caleb texted:
How does this compare to Consuela?
Before he could knock on the hogan’s door, it opened. Heat spilled into the cold as the scent of wood smoke wrapped around him, stirring memories of tribal gatherings from his childhood.
Zach stood barefoot and shirtless, sweatpants low on his hips, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “Yá’át’ééh,Cousin. Come in.”
Caleb stepped inside and shrugged off his leather jacket. The layout was traditional, but the interior contained modern amenities. He made a slow clockwise circuit—past a square pine dining table, a galley kitchen, a walled in bathroom, Zach’s bed covered with a red and blueNavajo wool blanket, and a brown cowhide sofa. At the open center, a black wood-burning stove radiated warmth.
“Nice place.”
Zach chuckled. “I see you remember Grandmother’s rules about entering a Diné home.”
Caleb smiled faintly. He hadn’t given it conscious thought. Patricia Blackwater had been determined to teach her grandchildren the old ways. “Maybe I’m afraid she’ll come to me in a dream and scold me.”
“Coffee?” Zach pointed to the percolator on the stove. “Mugs are top left cabinet.”